


The Battle of the Holiday Jumpers

by Enterthetadpole



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, John Watson's Jumpers, John is Not Amused, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole
Summary: A Christmas to remember for 221BOrWhat happened that one year when John and Sherlock decided to out horrify each other one ugly holiday jumper at a time.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 73
Collections: Festive Johnlock Collection





	1. Shots fired in the direction of tiny candy canes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seasons greetings to the Johnlockers out there! Thank you for reading and kudos and comments are as delicious as hot mugs of apple cider. 
> 
> A special shout out to my beta reader Raechem! Hope that you enjoy. ♥️

In the future months, when everything had been settled, John realized that he was the one who actually started it. Not that he would vocally admit such a thing. Even if he somehow was able to withstand the mighty power of a thoroughly smug Sherlock Holmes, there were the not-all-yet-found surveillance cameras within the flat to document the confession. 

That would absolutely not do at all. 

It had begun innocently enough with John wanting to wear something festive. Nothing overboard at all. A hint of the upcoming holidays-that-included candy canes. Little candy canes that were barely the size of his pinkie finger and situated themselves in rows on what John believed was a fairly flattering shade of green. 

"When is your appointment?"

At first, John hadn't been sure that Sherlock had spoken to him. This happened a lot when they sat across from each other during breakfast. Sherlock turned the kitchen table into a makeshift laboratory or temporary library, and John tried to pretend that eating eggs next to a pile of a half dissected lamb's heart was perfectly normal.

"Sorry?" John asked, and Sherlock huffed. He deplored when people answered a question with a question, and John  _ knew  _ this. 

"I inquired…" Sherlock muttered as his sharp eyes peered over his notes with the scrutiny he had only moments before to his notepad "...as to when you have scheduled your appointment? You clearly have undergone visual impairment by your clothing decisions this morning."

John frowned, and then gave his mouth a quick wipe with his napkin because if this were to be their first argument of the day, it wouldn't do for him to have  _ literal _ egg on his face. 

"There's nothing wrong with my eyesight," John grumbled. "It's a holiday jumper because...well, it's the holidays."

"November 18th is not 'the holidays’ John," and yes, even though Sherlock hadn't actually used air quotes around the two offending words, his meaning was obvious. "So unless you are wearing that ludicrous garment to purposefully distract me,  _ please _ change into something less…horrifying."

There were so many components to Sherlock’s request that it took John a few moments to filter everything through. The concept that Sherlock could be distracted by something as mundane as a holiday jumper, for one, and the shock that he actually said  _ please _ to anything yet another. 

“Didn’t think you paid attention to the days of the month, let alone the season. Too bad though. I happen to like my jumpers...including this one. So, it stays on, thank you.”

To emphasize his point - as petty as it might appear - John scooped up another bite of eggs and gave a large swallow. The ‘and fuck off’ was also clearly in subtext. The slight twitch of Sherlock’s nose gave out a definite proclamation. 

_ This...Dr. John Hamish Watson...means war…. _


	2. The Mighty Bells of Royal London Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter cometh. This time with an extra helping of overly proud of himself Sherlock. Thank you for reading and kudos and comments are better than egg nog!
> 
> A special shout out to my beta reader Raechem! ♥️

The next few days at 221B Baker Street saw very little activity. Sherlock spent most of his time in his bedroom, and John had learned long ago to steer clear from that area unless smoke was billowing out from under the door. 

Sarah begged John to give a helping hand out the clinic, so he found himself bundling up every morning to assist with the seasonal cases of flu or strep throat. Nothing too serious, but enough to have him glad to come home and relax in his chair every evening. At least he was relaxed until a slightly redfaced Mrs. Hudson brought up a large package to the flat. 

“Is Sherlock doing more experiments? Nothing too noisy, I hope. My bridge club will be in this evening and explosions always seem to happen when I _finally_ have a decent hand.”

John decided not to mention that explosions were rarely polite enough to stay in a tiny location, and instead assured that he'd see to it that Sherlock behaved. Well, as behaved as Sherlock could be, which was not much assurance at all now that John thought about it. 

The package was innocuous enough to not throw up the usual red flags, so John placed it at the foot of Sherlock’s bedroom door and left to watch a movie in the sitting room. Eventually, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom muttering about the incompetency of clotting, with his hands dripping in something that looked way too much like blood to be anything else. John ignored it but made a mental note to volunteer to work more hours at the clinic.

All in all, this had been a good move. 

It was during Thursday’s shift that John came to learn at least what one of the items had been in the package. John had just finished up with an older male patient who had a fairly mild case of the flu when his ears perked up with a very odd sound. 

It was the slight tingling noise that was common with those cheesy holiday commercials. Usually with a group of people smiling way too much with their bundled-up bodies foot high in the snow and singing about good comfort and joy. 

Sleighbells. 

That’s what they were. Getting louder and headed up the corridor. Directly towards John, and that was way more than a bit not good. 

John only just registered the very real fact that he had no real visible escape route before a very noisy jumper came around the last corner with a very smug Sherlock Holmes within it. The jumper was the type of bright red that gave nightmares to small toddlers. The type of bright red that could burn out retinas if you stared at it too long in petrification. 

Yet before John could adequately absorb the violent shade of scarlet, his brain reset and now zeroed in on all of the small Christmas type bells on the front of the jumper that created a design very close to a classic Jackson Pollock.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing?” John yelped, and just a few meters down the hall Sarah’s head peered out of an examination room to see what all the commotion was about. 

“It’s a jumper.”

“I’m aware of what - “ John started before reflecting on how yelling at a man who made festive sounds when he moved could come across to his medical colleagues. So John took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “So this is the payback for the candy cane jumper I wore last week.”

Sherlock’s feigned look of surprise was not something that John needed today or any other day as a matter of fact. 

“Why, John...I’m hurt that you of all people aren’t in the Christmas spirit...especially when I came here to invite you to lunch. I booked a quaint little place a couple of blocks down from here. Where we can walk...with me jingling _all_ the way.”

The smallest of grins flitted across Sherlock’s face, and John’s cheeks were now definitely competing with the crimson color of that hideous jumper.

Fine then. If that’s how Sherlock wants to play this, then game on, Mr. Holmes.

  
Yes, the game is most _certainly_ on.


	3. A Skull Enters the Fray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long week but we are back with a new chapter. Thank you to Raechem for their speedy beta work!

When John set his mind to completing a mission, all bets and gloves were off. If Sherlock wanted to play dirty then John was more than perfectly willing to dive headfirst into the trenches. The military may not have prepared him for these exact tactical missions, but he is clever enough to adjust the variables.

He may not have all of the resources of Sherlock when it came to dodgy people who had access to even dodger jumpers, but he called in a couple of favors and by the following Tuesday, the stage was set. Sherlock had been out of the flat since early in the morning; his face dark as he quickly swallowed tea, and left 221b in a stomping of  _ stupid Lestrade and his insistence on paperwork.  _

The front door opened and slammed shut about two hours later, and John’s ears listened to the usual rolling storm of uttered grumbles of a thoroughly put out consulting detective. The pacing had always been a thing that John dealt with from Sherlock, but the sudden pause in the back and forth gave the signal that John needed to get ready for the inevitable. 

“John!”

“Making tea,” John answered. 

Sherlock flew into the kitchen, still in his coat and leather gloves. His mouth was in what John hoped wouldn’t be a permanent scowl, and Billy thrust out in front so that John could see it as clearly as possible. 

“What is  _ this _ ?”

John glanced down at the fuzzy red nose glued directly onto Billy’s nasal bone. Then he followed with a slow glance back up to Sherlock. 

“Well, I’ve only been in the medical field for the last couple of decades...but as a first guess...a skull?”

Sherlock blinked once, and then blinked a few more times. His mouth opened and closed as if the proper insult was trapped somewhere in the base of his brain stem and yearning to escape to the outside world. 

“You...defaced him!”

“Don’t think you can deface a skull, ” John grinned. “And Billy seems to like the nose. See? He’s smiling and everything.”

It was at this point that Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he took in John’s jumper. The front had a smiling skeleton in a Santa suit holding up a glass of champagne. The fluffy white letters encircled the picture read the words  _ Have Yourself a Very Scary Christmas and a Happy Boo Year!  _

John paused to snuggle up in the stunned silence once more. Billy fell to the floor with a comical thunk. 

“Puns…” Sherlock hissed. “You brought  _ puns  _ into this.”

“Yes, I suppose that I did,” John chuckled, and Sherlock’s eyes flashed with something wicked. “Your move…”


End file.
